


Fate of Choice

by little_librarian



Series: Wander Into My Heart [3]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Podfic Available, Post-Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:08:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22331659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/little_librarian/pseuds/little_librarian
Summary: “We have to find them first,” Jaskier says. For all that Yennefer dislikes him, she can’t deny that he’s clever and stupidly brave.“Congratulations,” she drawls sarcastically. “You’ve earned your freedom.”She crawls towards Jaskier, dignity be damned—she needs all of her remaining strength for this, and she won’t waste it on walking. She destroys his cuffs, says, “Think of Geralt,” and opens a portal. She shoves Jaskier through, then hauls herself after him.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Wander Into My Heart [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1607377
Comments: 26
Kudos: 1954
Collections: Good Relationship Etiquette (familial included) - or Good BDSM Etiquette - or Good Relationship and BDSM Etiquette





	Fate of Choice

**Author's Note:**

> I said if I wrote another fic linked to my other Witcher stories, I'd create a series. So here we are on Story 3! Since this is officially linked to [Stories We Tell](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22009090), assume that Geralt and Jaskier made up immediately after Rare Species.
> 
> I wanted to write the adventures of Ciri, Geralt, and Jaskier, but my brain insisted this happen first. It just felt right, I dunno.

Yennefer doesn’t stop screaming until she falls through the air and smacks into hard ground. She is exhausted and bleeding still; her veins burn with chaos, with all the power available now that she’s forgone the old rules, and yet she feels too weak to perform even the simplest of spells.

“Melitele’s tits,” someone says—and _dammit_ , she knows the voice.

“Jaskier.” Yennefer tries to say it with as much disdain as possible, but it’s ruined by the way she gasps when she aggravates her wound trying to sit up.

“Oh, just what I need,” he complains. His voice is oddly strained. Still, it grates on Yennefer’s last nerves. “I haven’t seen a friendly face for _days_ , and the first person I recognize is _you_ , and. . .what _happened_ to you?”

“Sodden,” Yennefer grits out as she finally sits up. The floor, she notices, is cold stone. The room is small, barely lit by the torchlight shining through the barred window in the wooden door.

“Right, okay, that’s very helpful. Do you know what would be more helpful? Getting me out of here!”

If she were less tired, she’d silence him and send him somewhere without his damned lute for good measure. But she needs her strength for now, and the sound of rattling metal has her turning around out of curiosity.

Jaskier is chained to the wall by metal cuffs around his wrists. His clothes are torn and stained dark with blood. In the dim light, Yennefer can make out a ring of bruises around his neck—that explains the strained voice—and smaller bruises on his face.

“Nilfgaard tried to take Sodden,” Yennefer tells him. “I stopped them.” She watches his eyes widen, and he pulls again on the chains. She’ll free him if only because of his connection to Geralt, but she won’t give him the satisfaction of doing it immediately.

“Sodden,” Jaskier repeats. “But that means. . .Cintra?”

Yennefer remembers his unwavering faith in Cintra’s resilience and nods once. Jaskier doesn’t grieve as she expected, however, but sits up straighter and looks blindly at the wall behind her, eyes unfocused and moving like he’s solving a puzzle in his head.

“This is a Nilfgaardian prison,” he says, sudden and urgent. “They took me because they’re _rude_ and they’re looking for Geralt.”

Yennefer snaps, “What did you tell them?”

Jaskier glares at her, offended. “Nothing, of course, and that’s not the point. I couldn’t think why they want Geralt, but if they’ve taken Cintra then they’ll kill the royals.”

“Is this going somewhere?”

“The Child Surprise,” Jaskier says, and Yennefer tries not to flinch, “is Queen Calanthe’s grandchild.”

“The child escaped,” Yennefer surmises. “And Nilfgaard knows they’re destined for Geralt.”

“We have to find them first,” Jaskier says. For all that Yennefer dislikes him, she can’t deny that he’s clever and stupidly brave.

“Congratulations,” she drawls sarcastically. “You’ve earned your freedom.”

She crawls towards Jaskier, dignity be damned—she needs all of her remaining strength for this, and she won’t waste it on walking. She destroys his cuffs, says, “Think of Geralt,” and opens a portal. She shoves Jaskier through, then hauls herself after him.

***

This time, Yennefer tumbles onto soft, cool grass. Jaskier moans on the ground next to her. His injuries look far worse in the light of day. Her own blood runs hot down her side, and she clamps a hand to her wound.

“Oh, we’re finding all sorts of people today,” a woman says, bending over them.

Yennefer glares at Jaskier. “I told you to think of Geralt!” she hisses.

“I did!” he argues. “What were you thinking of? A nice forest walk?”

Gods, what a sight they must be: half-dead, bleeding in the grass, and still bickering.

“We can spare some supplies,” the woman continues, ignoring their fighting. “Not enough to heal you fully, but enough to get you upright.”

Yennefer scowls at her. There is life here, unlike in that cell, and she can feel chaos in the air again. The grass withers around her while her wound heals.

“Oh my,” the woman says. “That’s useful.”

“Not fair,” Jaskier moans. “My turn.”

Yennefer rolls her eyes but concedes that he’s of no help in his current state. She stands and prepares to heal him when she hears, “Yen?”

There, at the edge of the forest, stands Geralt. A girl huddles against his side, and Yennefer feels destiny tug her towards them both. She hates that the connection she feels to Geralt is artificial, and she isn’t ready to forgive him for taking a choice from her. The pull towards the girl, however, is pure. She will be Yennefer’s someday as much as she is Geralt’s, but today is not that day.

“You’re Yennefer,” the girl says with absolute certainty. “I’m Cirilla.”

“Geralt told you about me?” Yennefer asks. She looks briefly at Geralt, only to find that he’s preoccupied with Jaskier.

She watches as Geralt moves his hands whisper-soft over Jaskier’s body, cataloging injuries and touching for the sake of it. Jaskier catches one of Geralt’s hands and tangles their fingers together, smiles when Geralt doesn’t pull away.

“I dreamt of you,” Cirilla says, pulling Yennefer’s attention back to her.

Her words make Yennefer focus harder on her. She can sense power humming in the girl, raw and embedded deep, unmatched by anyone. Yennefer has stood in Aretuza and felt the power of countless sorcerers, and still she is awed by the power in front of her. Cirilla will be a force like none other, and Yennefer knows, with every inch of her being, that she will be there to see it.

She leans down and whispers a spell in Cirilla’s ear. “For when you need me,” Yennefer says solemnly. “I will answer.”

Cirilla mouths the spell without saying it, and Yennefer nods in approval. In the next second, Cirilla’s arms are tight around Yennefer, her head nestled just under Yennefer’s breasts. Yennefer smooths her hand over Cirilla’s matted hair and commits the girl’s warmth to memory.

Geralt is kind enough to give Yennefer this moment, to wait for Cirilla to let go before he calls her back to his side. He dismisses the woman back to her house in the meanwhile, then helps Jaskier stand. He keeps the bard close and upright with an arm snug around his waist.

As Cirilla retreats from her, Yennefer knows that, to some extent, she has Jaskier to thank for this encounter. She won’t actually say it—gods only know what that would do to his ego—but she reaches her magic out to him, heals his wounds and lets a bit of magic creep over the blood she sees on Geralt’s leg. Jaskier presses his face into Geralt’s collar as his body knits back together, and Geralt nods at her before turning his head into Jaskier’s hair to offer reassurance. There’s a softness between Geralt and Jaskier that Yennefer doesn’t understand, a type of openness and sheer trust that she isn’t ready for, not with Geralt.

“Nilfgaard is looking for you,” Yennefer says.

Geralt lifts his head to meet her eyes, and she knows then that the stubbornness they share will, for once, be a good thing. “We’ll head for Kaer Morhen,” he says.

Jaskier makes an annoying little hum and says, “Oh, witcher fortress, sounds exciting.”

Yennefer tries her best to ignore him.“I’ll craft a false trail for you. They’re too proud to admit they’ve lost you, they’ll follow a lie all the way to their deaths.”

Cirilla looks at her from Geralt’s other side, her eyes filled with the longing and need that Yennefer so craves. “You won’t come with us?”

Yennefer looks at the three of them: the princess, the witcher, and the bard; it’s like a bad play. She feels destiny pulls at her again. Behind the trio—the family, she thinks, for that is what they will become—smoke from Sodden rises in the distance. That, too, calls to her, and nothing about it is artificial.

“I’ll join you soon,” Yennefer says, and she means it. “My sisters need me now.”

As she steps through the portal, to her chosen destiny, she hears Geralt say, “This is Jaskier. He’ll be traveling with us.”


End file.
